


Wolf Bonded: Outtakes and Deleted Scenes

by purpleann



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Deleted Scenes, Greenseeing, Multi, Outtakes, Romance, Soul Bond, Wolf Bonded
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:20:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleann/pseuds/purpleann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each chapter will be a short snippet from my Wolf Bonded universe. Some may be enjoyable without having read Wolf Bonded, and before each chapter I will clarify where in the story it takes place. Outtakes and deleted scenes WILL NOT appear in chronological order, but I won't post anything that is a spoiler for the main story, although some of them may be set in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sandor

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wolf Bonded](https://archiveofourown.org/works/329768) by [purpleann](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleann/pseuds/purpleann). 



> Chapter 1 is a response to a kink meme prompt: "Sandor notices Sansa's ______ and suddenly can't stop thinking about it/them...He starts having ridiculous fantasies about them (which leads into fantasies about the rest of her)..." 
> 
> The following takes place during chapter 8 (Catelyn) of Wolf Bonded. 
> 
> ~

**SANDOR**

 

Sandor was grateful for the distraction, as he couldn't take his eyes off her. He'd rather not anyone witness him staring like some sort of halfwit. The distraction was his nephew Tommy, who was making a fool of himself in the truest sense: he was behaving like a court jester, juggling lemons and winter peaches. The boy was a shit squire, no question, but was good at making people laugh. His antics made the little bird laugh, anyway, and Sandor had to admit seeing her smile was something he craved. 

 

So much about her was beautiful beyond anything he'd seen, but lately...lately he could not stop thinking about her _hair_. He cringed to admit it to himself, but he couldn't deny his fixation. The color constantly caught his eye, and his hands constantly twitched to touch it, but he dared not. All he could do was stare, and hope that no one caught him. 

 

Redheads were rare south of the Trident. He'd never taken too much care to note what tavern wenches and whores looked like, but he was sure he'd never seen hair like hers on any common girl in King's Landing or Lannisport. The ladies at court nearly all had dark hair, except for the Queen and the Princess, with their golden Lannister looks.

 

The little bird's hair was something else entirely, he'd never seen anything like it. It was orange and red at once, like the blood oranges imported from Dorne. It was golden too, like the sweet wine from the Reach the King sometimes drank. When she walked outside and the sunlight fell upon it, it blazed yellow-white like the hottest fire, the kind needed to bend steel and forge sharp blades. He couldn't stop thinking about it.

 

Tonight her hair was twisted into a braid, thick and heavy and twined with a blue ribbon. It hung over her shoulder and nearly down to her waist. She laughed at Tommy and nibbled on her lemon cakes, and all the while her hair blazed brightly, catching every flicker of light from the fires in the massive hearths of the Great Hall, and Sandor couldn't look away. He clenched at his wine goblet to keep from reaching out to touch it. 

 

His obsession made him feel foolish, but so much about living in Winterfell left him uncertain, that it was just another part of his constant frustration and doubt. Not for the first time, he cursed that bloody raven from Lord Stark. Life was so _simple_ before that fucking raven. 

 

Sandor laughed bitterly to himself, well aware that his predicament was one any man in Westeros would kill for. The little bird was a beauty, to be sure, but too much about this situation did not sit well with him, and the more he thought on it, the more his insides churned with irritation and anxiety. In some ways, his preoccupation with her fiery hair helped distract him from those worries. 

 

Fire had long been an obsession of his, of course. He dreamed of fire and flame every single night, had done for as long as he could remember. But now his dreams were a bit different. 

 

Two days ago, she wore her hair loose down her back, with only a thin braid about her crown to keep it from falling in her face. It had distressed Sandor deeply. She and her little friend had come out onto the bridge between the armory and the Great Hall, and had perched on a shallow bench there, intent on watching the men in the practice yard below. 

 

They both held bits of sewing in their laps, but it was only for show. The steward's girl was there to watch the Greyjoy brat, and Sandor could feel his little bird's eyes on him the entire morning. It was bloody fucking distracting, especially as she _insisted_ on wearing her hair down. Both girls were bundled up in fur cloaks, but for some fucking reason the wretched things had no hoods, and her hair was unbound.

 

The red-orange waves fell down around her like a river of fire. Long strands danced about her face in a cloud of golden red, as her hair got caught up in the mild breeze of the morning. Why the fuck didn't her cloak have a hood? It was all Sandor could do to focus on the fighting and to stop stealing glances at her; her hair was so bright that he could see it out of the corner of his eye, even as she was half-hidden in the shadow of the covered bridge. If Greyjoy managed to land a blow because he couldn't stop looking at her, looking at her _hair_ , Sandor wouldn't be able to live with himself. 

 

That night his dreams began to change. 

 

He still dreamt of fire, but it didn't always peel away his flesh or sear his skin. In his dreams, she would run to him, smiling and laughing, her hair flying out behind her like a torch in the night. He wanted to touch her more than anything, to hold her in his arms and know what she felt like pressed against him, what she smelled like and what she tasted like. But he was afraid, too...instinctively he would recoil from her, as he always did from fire. But he was drawn to her at the same time, and the conflict confused him. 

 

Some nights, in his dreams, he resisted the urge to flinch away, and she would fall into his arms. She would smile up at him, and lean her head on his chest, and he would bury his nose in her glorious hair. In his dreams, she smelled like honeyed wine, sweet and intoxicating at once. She was as soft and as warm as he suspected, and the feeling of her curves under his hands was maddening, and made him desperate with want. He found that being so close to the blaze of her hair was a comfort, rather than the torment he expected. She never burned him, not once. He would wait to feel the hellish heat and the burning pain, but it never came. 

 

He awoke from those dreams sweaty, confused, and hard as stone, and knew he would have another long day of trying not to be distracted.

 

 

 

 


	2. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place immediately following chapter 2 (Sansa) of Wolf Bonded. 
> 
> ~

Sansa sat in her father's solar and tried not to fidget. Her father stood silently, staring out the window. It faced north, and it seemed his eyes were fixed on the northern most corner of Winterfell's grounds, where the towers of the First Keep still stood. Sansa saw in his profile that he had his Lord's Face on, what she and Arya called the look he had when he had to be the Lord of Winterfell, and not just their father. 

 

Her lady mother had brought her here, to her father's solar, to hear the news from Jojen Reed. The young lord of Greywater Watch had come to Winterfell especially for Sansa, on the occasion of her flowering. The Reeds were gifted with the Sight, and one with such a gift was required to discover the name of the soul bonded mate for a Stark maiden. 

 

Sansa was making a valiant effort to not squirm in her seat. She had been waiting _all day_ for this meeting, and it had been _months_ since her flowering. She knew Lord Jojen had been in Winterfell since yesterday afternoon, and that he had spent all morning in the Godswood, praying or thinking or speaking or whatever one must do to accomplish _greenseeing_ ; she was anxious now for the results!

 

But Sansa knew ladies did not fidget, so she did her best to sit still, and wait for her father to speak. 

 

After what seemed an eternity, in which neither of her parents spoke and Sansa nearly _died_ of anticipation, her father turned away from the window, and gave her a faint smile. Sansa beamed back at him.

 

“Mother said you were ready to speak with me, father.” Sansa tried and failed to keep from smiling. Both her lord father and lady mother seemed so serious. Sansa knew she should probably treat this moment with the same formality, and perhaps a bit more gravity, but she was just so excited!

 

He nodded solemnly, and sat down in a chair next to her mother. He took Lady Catelyn's hand in his, and turned to face Sansa, still wearing his Lord's Face. 

 

“You know Jojen Reed was here today, to do us the honor of naming your bonded mate. This is why I asked your mother to bring you here, and this is what we must speak of.” 

 

Sansa nodded eagerly, and clutched the skirts of her dress in her hands, forcing herself to remain quiet and let her father speak. 

 

Her parents exchanged a look that Sansa couldn't interpret, and her mother's eyes dropped to her lap, while she squeezed her father's hand, with what seemed to Sansa quite a bit more force than necessary. Perhaps they were just as excited as she for this moment! She was their eldest daughter, after all. Like Robb had said earlier, this was a great day in the life of a Stark maiden!

 

“His name...his name is Sandor Clegane.” 

 

Sansa's mind began to race immediately, desperately trying to recall all of her lessons with Maester Luwin, trying to fish out the name _Clegane_ and anything she might have learned about his House or his person. She was frustrated that nothing readily came to mind, but to be fair, it was quite true she was far too excited to think clearly. It seemed Father was holding his breath...perhaps he expected her to recognize the name? She felt awful having to disappoint him, but she just couldn't focus enough to remember. Maybe he would give her a little hint? Maester Luwin always said she was a very good student and had a fine memory for the history of the great Houses. Sansa was sure with a little hint she'd be able to remember the name Clegane. 

 

Sansa willed herself to calm down. She wanted her parents to see how mature she could be. “Forgive me, Father, but I do not know this Lord Clegane. I confess that I have been so...overwhelmed by...by _anticipation_ today, that I fear my lessons have momentarily left me. Please, could you tell me about him?”

 

Her parents exchanged that look again, but after her mother's eyes returned to her lap. Her father shook his head slowly, and then spoke very gently.

 

“No sweet one, there is no reason why you would know the name Clegane...I'm quite sure it has not come up in your lessons with Maester Luwin.” 

 

He took a deep breath, and with it his Lord's Face faded away, and he was just her father again. “Sandor Clegane is...from the Westerlands. He is...the younger son of a house sworn to House Lannister.” Father's face twisted in a curious way at this. _Lannister_ was a name that Sansa did recognize...Lord Tywin Lannister was Warden of the West, and good father to King Robert. His daughter Cersei was the Queen of all Westeros, and was said to be a legendary beauty! 

 

“He is...sworn shield to Prince Joffrey, Robert's eldest.”

 

Again it seemed as if Father was holding his breath. But Sansa couldn't think about that now, what he had just said was sinking in...a sworn shield. Sandor Clegane was not a lord, then. Sansa was surprised to feel a twinge of... _something_ at this fact. She realized for the first time that she had always assumed her bonded mate would be a great lord, or even a prince!

 

“He...protects the crown prince?” Sansa was proud to hear that her voice sounded even and calm, like a mature young lady's should, despite her momentary inner turmoil. 

 

“Then...then he must be very brave and strong, to be trusted with such a charge! Like a knight of the Kingsguard. They are the finest knights in Westeros, are they not? And sworn to protect the king with their lives. Sandor Clegane must be just such a knight!”

 

Although she could barely tell, Sansa saw her mother's eyes fall closed, and heard her take in a sharp breath. Her father gave her a strange look, but also a sort of half nod, before shaking his head again.

 

“Well, no...he's not a knight. Nor is he one of the Kingsguard. But, it's true he is a fierce warrior. His...reputation throughout Westeros is well known. He is said to be quite a dangerous man to face in battle.”

 

Sansa felt her heart swell. A warrior so dangerous that his exploits were known far and wide! Goodness, that was even better than a member of the Kingsguard, they couldn't marry anyway, could they?

 

“Oh Father, is it true? Is his fierceness in battle _legendary_? Will you tell me stories about him?” Sansa clasped her hands together in an effort to keep them from fluttering about. She was trying to remain calm and convince her lord father and lady mother she was mature enough to be betrothed. But she knew she sounded a bit more excited than necessary just then...she felt a little bit breathless at the thought of her soon-to-be-betrothed's _reputation_ , and it was obvious her voice betrayed her. Her mother finally looked up at her, after exchanging yet another _look_ with Father. 

 

“Oh Sansa, my love, it's not...no. No sweetling, it's not like...Sandor Clegane is not like the heroes from the songs you love so much. He is the son of a lord, true, but...more like a...like a _soldier_ than a lord, in truth. Do you understand? Are you disappointed?”

 

Sansa was shocked to hear such words from her mother's mouth. She was even more shocked at her own reaction, which was a sharp stab of offense. How else did heroes become great enough for songs to be written about them? Did they not perform great deeds in battle that brought them acclaim and admiration of the nobility and smallfolk alike? Did not every great and valiant warrior begin their illustrious careers as mere soldiers? 

 

But Sansa held her tongue, she would _never_ speak to her lady mother in such a way, that was something Arya would do. Instead she smiled, and answered her mother's question.

 

“Why should I be disappointed, mother?” Here she looked back and forth between the faces of her parents, and saw quite clearly that _they_ were disappointed. She again tamped down the urge to defend her bonded mate, even though she had never met him. Old Nan said she wouldn't feel the bond right away, but mayhaps hers and Sandor's was already quite strong!

 

“Old Nan said that the Stark soul bond cared naught for birthrights and family trees. That he is only a younger son of a small house does not trouble me, truly!” 

 

Sansa smiled and her heart warmed, thinking of having a lord husband that all of Westeros knew of and feared, for his prowess in battle. How thrilling! But it seemed that her parents did not share in her joy.

 

“Father...forgive me for saying so, but it seems _you_ are disappointed, however. May I ask why?”

 

He gave her another half smile, and exchanged another look with Mother. “It's nothing my sweet one, only that a Lannister bannerman is not who I would have chosen for you...” he trailed off, and gave a very uncharacteristic shrug, while his eyes wandered out the window again, northward to the towers of the Old Keep. 

 

“But this is the will of the Old Gods. Your mother and I shall send a raven to Lord Tywin Lannister to whom Sandor Clegane is sworn. We will explain the situation and hope that Lord Tywin will release him from his duties, so he may come to Winterfell.”

 

Sansa felt her face flush and her heartbeat speed up. She was going to meet him! And soon! Just as soon as a raven could be sent to Kings Landing! 

 

“Oh Father, will we be getting married? May I make my own maiden's cloak? Septa Mordane says my stitches are almost always perfect, I know I could do well and honor House Stark!” Sansa turned to her mother, hoping she would agree. 

 

But Mother's face had paled, even as Father looked out the window again, completely ignoring Sansa's question. Lady Catelyn took a deep breath. 

 

“Sansa, you will not be getting married for many years yet, what is important to focus on for now is continuing your studies, and once Sandor Clegane is here, to...to get to know him and see...and to see how the bond works between you.”

 

Sansa nodded, she knew that was how it went with long betrothals. She was only fourteen after all, there really wasn't any reason for her to marry very soon, but it would be wonderful to have her bonded mate here with her at Winterfell. Perhaps he would tell her stories of his daring exploits and dangerous missions. Perhaps he had thrilling tales about defending the prince from foes of the crown and other foul enemies. Perhaps her mother would still let her make her maiden's cloak, even if it wasn't to be used any time soon...

 

“But may I still make my maiden's cloak? Please Mother, I know I could do it well!”

 

Sansa's father was again standing at his northern-facing window, staring at the Old Keep. But her mother just smiled at her, and to Sansa's delight, _she said yes!_


End file.
